His brow arches in quiet amusement. “A shark tooth. Did they?”
“Was it you?”
He lets the line float for a moment, then reels it in, thinking carefully before speaking. “Your mum…” He sits there for a long moment, the sound of the lapping water filling the space between us. “I was always sorry I didn’t do more.”
“Sorry you didn’t do more forher? Or for Heath and me?”
His shoulders sag. “All of you…the kids, too.”
His gaze is distant now, lost in the past. And I realize he’s talking about the blood boys in town, forced out to the Wicked Woods while their dads got shitfaced and violent at his pub. Then I think of Terry’s paternal hand on Heath’s shoulder, how my brother leaned into it. Trav skippering Terry’s beloved fishing boat.
“Maybe you thought you could make it up to Heath, to Trav,” I say slowly, “by getting them involved in something they shouldn’t be. Something lucrative…illegal?”
I move closer. “And you were worried about Chris finding out, so you sent him a warning. Now he’s gone. Just like Hannah Striker.”
There’s the briefest flicker of something on his face when I mention Hannah’s name. When he speaks, it’s with a certain weariness that makes his words feel like they’re laden with too much history. “Drop this, Min.”
“I can’t.”
“If you love your brother…” His eyes flick to mine. “If you still love Trav…you’ll drop it. You’ll leave it alone.”
I’m about to speak when the scream rings out. Silence sweeps over the beach like invisible hands are holding our mouths shut.
Conversations cease. Children stop laughing. Even the surfers are frozen on their boards, heads lifted high, waiting.
And then someone screams out, “Shark!”
A fin strikes through the surface, only meters from the small groupof surfers. They cry out in alarm, bolting up on the boards, pulling their limbs out of the water as the fin surges closer. The shark is huge, the dorsal fin towering over their heads. The surfers huddle together, gripping their boards tightly, as the fin circles them.
“Oh my God!” A woman bolts up from her towel, pointing at the shallows. “There’stwoof them!”
Emerging from the shallows is another fin, racing through the water like a nightmare. A man stands waist-deep, frozen, eyes locked on the fin. The people on the beach bolt to their feet, pointing and yelling at the two fins.
“Get out of the water!”
“Shark!”
“Get out! Get out!”
Amid the panicked screaming, Colleen lurches forward, running for the water. “Trav!”
I race after her, down the pier, jumping onto the hot sand, weaving among the screaming people. Colleen charges for the water as the swimmers come scrambling out. Panicked, they run for the sand, looking over their shoulders the whole way.
“Oh myGod!” someone is yelling. “It’s got him! It’s got him!”
My heart thumps hard as I chase Colleen down, almost knocking over a woman holding a screaming toddler, and a man hauling a teenage girl out of the shallows.
Colleen reaches the water. She’s ankle-deep and screaming out for her son. “Trav!”
I finally catch up to her, grabbing her around the waist, holding her back. I can feel her heart hammering under my forearm. She pushes at my chest, tries to free herself, but I hold her tighter. With a cry, she glances desperately at the water. It’s empty now except for the surfers, still coiled together. Trav. Where’s Trav?
Colleen struggles harder, while I frantically count the surfers.
One, two, three…
It’s got him. It’s got him!
Oh God.
